Perchance to Dream
by FindingXXX
Summary: Though he's never thought about him this way consciously, now Ivan finds the young Alfred slipping into his dreams more often. They barely see each other, though they live in adjacent apartments, so why is he in Ivan's head? AU, will get plotty later.
1. First of Many

Ivan knew he was dreaming. He knew because of the strange fracturing of the images and faces around him, the way one event seemed to blur into the next, and walked willingly through every scenario his subconscious placed before him.

Until he came to an entirely new one. In this dream he stood in a field of sunflowers, which was truly not that odd when given the near constant repetition of the flowers in his dreams, but the strange part was that there was a path betwixt them, winding casually along through the small jungle. He followed it, winding his way among the stalks, careful not to damage them, until he reached a large clearing among the overgrown plants that was filled with lovely green grass and a figure whom he didn't recognize. At least not until that person turned around, large smile all too familiar. Alfred's face fluctuated in the fabric of the dream, but it was instantly recognizable, and Ivan felt oddly drawn towards him, as though they were supposed to talk about something.

When he got near, Alfred's smile didn't fade, just softened a bit until it was warmer and more personal than anything he had ever given Ivan before.

"Ivan." murmured Alfred, lips sounding out the full syllables that rolled in dream-Ivan's ears. Before he could sort out why a sound was delicious and filling, Alfred had wrapped his arms around Ivan's shoulders, and Ivan had slid his own around Alfred's lithe waist. Alfred's face came closer and closer, until he was certain their lips were pressed together, although at first he felt nothing.

Then something began to blossom, just a little, as though someone had lit a match within the dream itself, in between their lips, the softness he dreamed for Alfred's and the stiffness of his own. Warmth seemed to flow in from what he perceived to be Alfred's lips, and down through his body, until Ivan was pressed up against a warmth he had never experienced before. It was as though Alfred himself _was_ the warmth he longed for, and helplessly Ivan pulled it tighter to his needing body. He had craved heat like this for ever so long, and now Alfred gave it willingly, so willingly that Ivan couldn't stifle the urge to devour every taste he got. Yes, to devour it and hold just a little piece for himself, the warmth he'd never had. The very idea of it had him panting, drawing back and watching blue eyes smile up at him as though they understood his wants and wished to sate them. Did this Alfred want him back?

A ripple passed through the dream, and they were suddenly on the ground, with Alfred underneath him. At some point the ground too had become covered in sunflowers, and Alfred's face was pressed among them, ever the focus of Ivan's vision. His face flushed deeply and his lips pursed and formed the name again.

"Ivan."

Ivan felt the unnameable warmth between them grow, and he couldn't resist grinding down into it, harder and harder, insides twinging at the sensation of that warmth. He didn't know why, it didn't make sense, he'd never thought that it could be this way for him. To feel so good, to want so much.

"Ivan."

He watched his name be repeated on Alfred's lips, and the dream frayed and melted deeper into itself in that way that only dreams can, pulling away everything except that warmth and Alfred's face, which looked so delightfully wanting as though he craved too, Ivan pushing his whole body towards that warmth.

Then he was staring at the fabric of his pillow, morning light on the adjacent window. He sat up, shook his head then ran his fingers though his hair before deciding to have a shower and forget about it.

**Author's Notes:**

If this sounds slightly strange or warped, remember, it's a dream and it's supposed to be sort of oddly slippery. There will be much more graphic smut in the next chapter and the ones following it, but also slowly increasing dosages of plot. I'm not really sure where this will go, but I hope you all stick around for the ride!


	2. Breathing Trouble

The next night, Ivan was slightly wary of going to sleep, but Alfred didn't feature in any of his dreams. It was strange, but he only wondered so slightly about the appearance. Afterward, it seemed like just a fluke when he didn't pop up again. Not that night, nor the next, nor the one after that. Ivan just let the strange dream about his neighbor slip away into memory, like dreams have a way of doing, even if you don't particularly want them to. Once again, Alfred was just his neighbor in the adjacent apartment, occasionally seen staggering up the stairs dragging all sorts of things to build his models or sketch his plans with, laid out on the large dining room table for him to work on. Ivan had been over twice, once to help the young man move in, willingly hauling in box after box as he had listened to him eagerly chatter about his new hopes and dreams in the city, about the small town that he'd come from, about how he felt that this was all just like in the movies, or maybe even better. Something about the way he spoke, and flailed his hands like living creatures that strove to convey the excitement and power behind his words had been almost endearing and childlike, but his plans themselves grandiose and mature. Throughout the next two years, he appeared to have done well and kept whatever wishes he'd had upon arrival in sight, never losing his smile or the bounce in his step. He'd invited Ivan over once again last month, for their apartment's Christmas party, and since he'd lived so close he'd arrived early before his shift started. That was when he had learned the young American had graduated and become an architect who was a self-titled "builder of all things", and Ivan had shared that he was a sous-chef who specialized in entrees, and they'd laughed over a glass of wine like any other neighbors would. How, though, could something so small lead to a dream like that? Were they really so much closer than he had first thought of them?

In retrospect, that was likely a true thought. For moments each day, they saw each other, and talked about this and that, just briefly letting one another glimpse into their lives. Ivan would tell how he was sore from the gym, and Alfred would follow up with his cramp from his morning run with his new dog, or they'd talk about late hours and loud bosses and all those things that made up a life. Despite that, Ivan had never thought consciously that he was so attracted, and it troubled him. While he'd never heard Alfred speak of women, there was a high chance that he wasn't even a homosexual, which dampened their relationship from the start, as well as the fact that even if he was gay, he'd probably want someone young and energetic to accompany him through his life. Just thinking about it made Ivan shake his head and put it firmly down to pass it off as nothing more than a dream.

Days continued to pass, and he continued to go on as he had before, forgetting anything ever happened, and passing it off as an oddity of the subconscious. Everything went back to the cycle of eating and sleeping and working at his job, which was one of the few things in his life he could say he loved. Most of his money either went towards his rent or was sent back home to Russia for his sisters to live on, but he found he often didn't need it, and their postcards made it all worthwhile. Today, in fact, he was expecting one, so he tromped downstairs before his shift started at three and eagerly clicked open his post box in the lobby, feeling around inside until his hand met the familiar paper of the cards they always sent. On the front was a picture of their hometown, decorated lavishly as always in sparkling icicles and webs of frost, and on the back Natalya's curling script jumbled up with Katyusha's bouncy hand, regaling him with the latest gossip and information alike. He paused to read it, smiling softly at the written antics and his mental image of his sisters arguing over what to write.

"Oh, hey Ivan! 'Scuse me, just going to get my post and be out of your hair." murmured a cheerful voice from directly behind him. That was definitely Alfred, probably dragging some huge briefcase or box of papers and plans behind him, reaching casually across Ivan's shoulders to get to his mailbox on the other side. His breath echoed right down the side of Ivan's neck, somehow finding all of the open spaces left by the scarf he used to protect himself from the January air with. Unwittingly, Ivan's eyes flew wide and his hand clutched and bent the card from his two sisters, his body just restraining an unwarranted shiver. In a moment, it was gone, and Alfred was waving goodbye to him with mail in hand, pushing out the door and onto the street. Ivan just had time to raise his hand in farewell before he disappeared around the corner, and he was left alone with a wrinkled picture of his home and a damned thumping heart.

This time, he was in someplace with dim lights, but was acutely aware of Alfred's presence behind him, almost painfully aware. Ivan stood rigid and watched the brown-gold lights in front of him brighten and dim as he felt Alfred's fingers slide around his shoulders, circling in towards his neck. He couldn't see his friend but _knew_ somehow that it was him, because that warmth had returned, this time pressed to his back, causing him to arch forward, unsure of whether he was trying to get closer or further away. Alfred's fingers were certain as they untied the cloth of his scarf and caught his hitch of breath with gentle fingertips, holding his pulse together under the rough pads and keeping it inside his skin. Though he was shorter, Alfred's mouth was perfectly positioned at the back of Ivan's neck, and he couldn't help flinching when the warmth began to spread there. The wet sensation of an actual kiss pressed to where his neck and shoulder met, then upwards to just behind his ear. A soft tongue, dull teeth scraping at his skin as through trying to get beneath it, and Ivan let him in. They blended in this dream, where Alfred was so much more defined than in the last. Dream-Ivan could feel each individual finger twist at the joints as they unbuttoned his shirt, as they began to rub nonsensically over his chest. There was no direction to Alfred's touches but they were everywhere at once, as though Alfred could feel him in every place anyone had ever touched him in before; a dozen ghostly hands were one pair all the same. The warmth on his neck grew broader, and the lights flickered faster, making Ivan realize they were in time with his heart; which made no sense but he couldn't care.

"Ivan."

The whisper in his ear was also more realistic, deeper and breathier than before.

"Ivan."

That personal name, repeated like it was the only thing Alfred could say. Ivan twitched and tried to reach for him, but his arms refused to move and curve up around his neck. It really didn't make a difference anyway, because dream-Alfred just stroked lower, trailing along his bare stomach. There was no way that Ivan could restrain his own body, but that didn't seem to be a problem. A dream wasn't real, was a safe place, so why couldn't he enjoy? He could feel that Alfred was in exactly the same state, but he either wouldn't or couldn't move to change it. Instead, they just moved against one another, bodies fitting together and rubbing up against one another, breath running over Ivan's neck and heating the side of his face, hands circling ever lower and just not quite getting where he needed them to be. It was frustrating, yes, and Ivan tried to make his dream move forward, to unzip his pants and let him feel everything that he wanted to feel, all the heat and lust alike, but it only remained stationary. They stayed like that until a blinding white light began to grow out of the corner of the dream and woke Ivan up with a start. His fingers smacked the wood of the nightstand and he growled; it was much too cold in New York apartments for his tastes.


	3. Plans to Plan

Now it was that lull period in the afternoon, when the city was the only noise occupying Ivan's airspace aside from the rustle of pages as he read quietly to himself. It was an hour and a half until his shift began, but just after lunch and he had no excuse to go anywhere on a weekday. Instead, _The Joy Luck Club _was what kept him entertained as he lazed around on his favorite leather chair, all dressed for work but held stationary by the slow passage of time leaking past.

A knock on the door startled him, the sound enough to stop a heart even though it was more exuberant than threatening. Standing, Ivan moved to unlock his door, discovering a somewhat sheepish Alfred standing on the other side, rubbing the back of his neck and straightening when Ivan answered his knock. "Oh, hey! I'm just-uh...can I ask you for a favor? I need some help with something for work; left some heavy boxes in my car. Not that I can't carry them, I just wanted to get it done quicker so I wouldn't be tramping up and down these stairs all night." Ivan just blinked, the little gears whirring and clicking away in his mind until it finally relayed the message of what Alfred had said in an understandable way. It also managed to fumble around and grasp his answer, which relieved Ivan greatly. "Of course, let me just put on some shoes and I'll be right there." Trying not to be rude but forced to close the door because his apartment was just so damn small that he had to if he wanted to reach his shoe-rack, Ivan hopped about trying to fit two decent shoes on the right feet and open the door again at the same time. It was quite a spectacle to anyone who may have been watching, but fortunately for Ivan's dignity, no one was. Then they were out the door and on their way to hauling boxes of paperwork, plans, and models up the stairs.

About an thirty minutes later, once they'd gotten everything including Alfred's late lunch up the stairs, they sat in the nook that made up his dining room and just relaxed for a minute. "What even is all of that, in those boxes?" Ivan asked, gesturing limply to the towering stack of cardboard that threatened to topple over and crush Alfred's very curious dog sniffing nearby. "Those are just a couple of models for this big huge building I'm working on with some colleagues, and all the fancy paperwork I have to fill out tonight, plus all the plans I have to go over and correct." Alfred paused to sip at his soda, and then stood to rifle through the various boxes. Finally, he seized a particular blueprint, waving it above his head triumphantly for a moment and unfurling it on the table. "This, my friend, is my own special project! I figured that I can change the stability of this building type by placing walls here-" he pointed to some three-dimensional square on the paper that Ivan quickly figured out was on the inside "-and here, then running supports through here." He stepped back, allowing Ivan to analyze it -which was likely not all that helpful, as Ivan new as much about architecture as he did about piloting hot air balloons, which is to say very little indeed- and waited for his opinion. What little he did manage to glean from the drawing actually seemed rather remarkable. At least he had an education in the laws of physics, so he could tell that Alfred's creation appeared on a basic level to be balanced, and in quite a creative way. On the outside, the building looked beautiful for all that a building on paper could, and Ivan did appreciate that. "It's interesting, Alfred, and I like it! Very innovative." The remark was mostly meant to make it seem like he wasn't a total idiot when it came to architecture, and it appeared to work on Alfred who beamed energetically at him.

That was one thing that always struck a chord within him, especially when Alfred did it. Up until he was twenty years old, Ivan had lived in Russia, and the people of his homeland had different ideas about smiling than people of places like America. It wasn't something one just did casually, or with false intent. A smile was always private and genuine, for friends and family only, and reserved for the best of occasions. The Americans smiled as a basic facial expression, and it had been unsettling at first to say the least. However, Ivan just learned to pick out the true ones from the average, and treasured them all the more for it. Alfred's smile in particular was, well, rather fantastic when he smiled for real happiness.

"All my colleagues and fellow architects think I'm a nutjob for suggesting it, but they just can't see why it would be a perfect idea! I'm glad _you _can, and I'm definitely going to tell them that even my neighbor who is a chef and has zero to do with buildings or construction thinks that it's a good idea." With that and a determined look, Alfred sat back down, and curled his tongue around his straw which made him look like he was somehow lost in thought. Silence descended over the pair for a moment, with Alfred contemplating something and sucking on his drink, and Ivan doing his best to not stare. It was broken soon enough when Alfred completed his train of thought and began explaining several things to Ivan that he did his best to understand, though he did have to interrupt to ask some questions. Then, a light went off in his brain and it occurred to him that he had a job to get to, so he stood up quickly and babbled out a short apology, just barely getting the words out in his hurry. "I am sorry, I need to go, my shift starts soon...I will make it up to you, sometime, you can come to the restaurant for drinks or something but I really must be going." On went his coat and he dashed for the door, determined to not be late for the preparations for dinner rush. "Okay, well, goodbye Ivan and thanks for the help! I'll take you up on that, man!" called Alfred, and Ivan had just the time to give him a light wave before rushing out into the hall and down the stairs.

Though the next several hours of work left Ivan exhausted and put their encounter far from his conscious mind, his subconscious happily pounced on the memory of Alfred and brought it once more to him while he slept. In this dream, Alfred had been waiting for him, and smiled when he saw him, suddenly appearing right before him and leaning up against him. Ivan had the sensation of wanting to tell him something, desperately in fact, but he couldn't manage to explain it, or not in any way that seemed to convey his meaning. They stayed that way for a while, Ivan trying to say what he meant and Alfred just pressing against him amiably, completely oblivious to what he was trying to do. Slowly, the pulsing warmth that was nearly familiar by now began to flutter between them again, and Ivan had to stop speaking for the lump in his throat. Bright blue eyes turned on him, half covered by blonde lashes, staring at him until Alfred murmured Ivan's name and they went toppling down. The warmth he now associated with the man in front of him slid down his body, spreading over his legs and lower stomach, warming him up. Eyes though, blue eyes filled his vision, only just allowing him to see outside of them to his face, that held a light smile gently on it. Heat concentrated, becoming kisses on somehow-bare skin, inching up his thighs and towards the erection that strained towards the touch. Alfred didn't seem to mind it, though, more that he was delighted with the reaction and gave Ivan that lustful look again. His pink lips parted, tongue curling from between them and _oh-_Ivan lost himself in a long moan. Alfred's tongue was lapping at his cock, skillful and agile movements covering the head and tracing down the sides. He wanted to thread his hands in Alfred's hair, whether to pull him off or encourage him for more was unclear, but the dream made it hard for him to move. Instead, he was trapped, watching in awe as Alfred's lips expanded, sucking him in and bathing him in heat. Oh god, what a tongue, what a mouth! The little hungry motions of his lips, the way Alfred took his cock deep within his mouth as though he were equally pleasured to do so, all were so arousing they drove Ivan insane. He nearly burst as Alfred drew back for a minute and then leaned deeply forward, encasing nearly his entire dick in the unbearable heat of his throat.

"Alfred...I...stop, please, I won't be able to-" he lost his voice to a particularly strong suck, almost being able to feel the true sensation of Alfred's throat massaging him for more. Watching was nothing but pure torture, and yet he couldn't look away. There was nothing to do but see Alfred's jaw move as he swallowed him, to see his cheeks flush brightly in a way that Ivan yearned to cup with his hand, and his perfect eyes, so clouded with lust. It was enough to make him mad. He would cover that heat, one day, and bring Alfred to pleasure, writhing underneath him or panting above him, either way. Ivan would do anything he asked to see that ecstatic face as many times as he could. Chills ran through him, and his hips moved upward towards Alfred, seeking more.

The lights on his alarm clock read two-thirty a.m. Ivan sat up in bed, panting and even sweating slightly. There was no ignoring the fact that his bedsheets had a bulge in them either, as much as his semi-rational mind wished to deny it. Ivan's body undoubtedly wanted more than the friendship they had now, and his mind, or a tiny corner of it, was beginning to agree. Something would have to be done; there was no ignoring this. First he made a resolution to do more to figure this situation out, and next he reached in the bedside dresser for a package of tissue paper normally reserved for colds, and put it to a different use entirely.

**Author's Note:**

Wheee, this fic earns it's M rating! Oh dear, whatever will our poor Ivan do now?


	4. The Artist

**NAuthor:**

Sorry for being gone, I got eaten by work/school. Updates now!

It had been a few days since his last encounter with Alfred, but Ivan was determined to have another. Just learn a little bit more about him. Perhaps separate his body from his mind as far as desires went; he'd always been the kind to prefer a love in the mind rather than the groin. But was his subconscious trying to signal this was more than a fleeting fancy? The only way to tell was to get closer.

So he took time before work to sit and think about the whole situation, as broadly as he could. He knew Alfred was from somewhere out in the country, come to the city with big plans to achieve his dreams. A builder, a creator, someone who built skyscrapers like they were his personal temples to the sky. Ambitious, optimistic...and young. Really very young indeed. If Ivan thought about it, he was at least six years older than Alfred. Wouldn't he be more interested in someone his own age, as young and full of life as he was, rather than older and calmer? Ivan sighed, raking a hand through his hair and telling himself he was just being negative. If Alfred was even considering the same sex as a potential partner, then he had a shot. A long one, but a shot.

A shot was all he wanted, too. Just a chance to perhaps sort things out, and see what he really felt, something he'd never had to do before. Many a time life had been black and white for him, either he was happy or sad, angry or calm, but never this odd tangle of emotions that he found himself wrapped in right now. Alfred just...made him happy, to talk with, even to be with. No one else since he'd arrived here had so inspired him to feel good about himself and the world on whole. He stood, back ramrod straight, and walked over to the mirror, looking himself over in it. Seeing himself did nothing to ease his confusion either. Where was this feeling stemming from, his head or his heart? How he'd ridiculed Romeo and Juliet for their passionate love that made so foolish a fall! Hardly a tragedy in his mind; comedy suited the whole thing much better! Now, though, now did he fall into the very same trap? Ach, thinking like this would do him no good. He finished arranging himself to look decent for work and headed out the door.

Twenty minutes of traveling by various means, he arrived in front of the glistening splendor of his place of employment, the fancy uptown restaurant he had fallen in love with upon his arrival in New York. Yes, this city was his town, but this restaurant, this kitchen, was his home. With a confident sweep of his arm Ivan swung open the door, allowing the cool air to lift his hair from his forehead, brushing it aside and giving him a better view. Patrons already sat at their reserved tables, chatting quietly in the dim light, occasionally clinking a glass or breaking into a low laugh. It was perfection, and the home for his little-addressed artistic talent. He drifted among the tables, suddenly feeling grace come of his awkward size, and actually smiled at Jacques, the head waiter.

Though he was at least ten or fifteen minutes early, Ivan moved to the kitchen swiftly, eager to be there. Something indescribable happened to him when he opened those doors; peace swept over him despite the hectic nature of the white-walled room. There people understood when he told them that food was art not only to the eye, but to the palate as well, and must be treated as such. Best of all, within the kitchen lay his dearest friend, Francis. They'd gone to cooking school together, and eventually ended up working in this restaurant out of mutual enjoyment of the fine food served here, as good friends and connoisseurs. Francis was the one in charge of wine selections and appetizers, and he did his job with admirable skill, hands working like quick birds, fluttering from one dish to another as he prepared each of them, a quiet smile gracing his lips whenever he saw Ivan.

A quiet charmer, yes, but also a good one; Francis was always popular with women but never could seem to hold onto them for more than a few weeks. Even if they fell madly in love with them, he seemed to grow depressed and worn-out the longer they stayed together and finally dumped them in sheer frustration. Something in his soft speech and lilting accent drew them in, his wonderfully artistic nature kept them close, and his fickle heart eventually tossed them away. Ivan wouldn't say that he was a cruel lover, though, it just always seemed as though nothing worked out. Like he wanted something he couldn't get from them.

Today, he seemed far more sunny, grinning at Ivan and twirling the order rack so that he could see what would be first and get a head start once he washed up. He sidled over as Ivan scrubbed the backs of his hands, looking him over before greeting him. " 'Allo, Ivan, and how are we today? You seem to be thinking hard on something, and your forehead is going to set in that frown." He laughed lightly and Ivan allowed his face to relax, giving one of his rare smiles in return. "I am alright, really. Just thinking hard about a certain quandary I have." This got him a single raised brow, and he set to work on his order while explaining. "It is...the conundrum of my neighbor. I have...ah, well, the easiest way to put it is a bizarre fascination." If Francis' eyebrow rose any further it would detach from his face. "I can't seem to stop wanting to see him. I don't know why, and it is so sudden, but I just came upon the realization of my admitted infatuation. I don't know if he reciprocates or not, though, and not the faintest idea how to find out, which is what I was hoping that...well, you could assist me with."

For a moment, nothing passed between the two but the bottle Francis passed him, and then he seemed to swallow and nodded. "I can help, on all manner of love. Only one so far has failed a Frenchman such as myself! May I suggest that first you stick with the routine? Get to know him a bit, perhaps invite him to dinner? That would give you a chance to show off a bit too, oui?" He smiled and pushed Ivan's shoulder playfully, finishing up his own dish and putting it on the tray Jacques and his hoard of waiters got them from. Ivan blinked at the simplicity of his answer. The saying as he remembered it was "Well duh" and it echoed in his head. Such an obvious solution, and he was the fool trying to figure out some complex scheme to woo Alfred! Why didn't he just act the gentleman and make his intentions clear, and then ask him out? He laughed too, and moved off to fetch something from the sink. Francis' eyes followed him there and back again with clouds inside them, but it all cleared once Ivan asked how his day had been, and the night began to shine in the city that never sleeps.


	5. Bravery

Of course such things are far easier said than done. Almost as soon as Ivan contemplated actually asking Alfred to dinner, he froze internally. What would he do if he said no, and left Ivan standing there, looking like a fool? What if he didn't swing that way? What if he had a severe food allergy? It was obvious that he was over thinking this and worrying far too much, but he couldn't help it. This was entirely new territory; nothing at all like trying out the latest dish or dealing with a complicated customer. He had to be absolutely delicate, or else everything would be a waste. When was the right time to ask, and where was the right place? The hall felt a little too informal, but he didn't feel quite confident in just waltzing over and asking him right out, either. How could talking to one man be so difficult?

Yet opportunity finally struck him, and Ivan seized up the chance. Every year their restaurant had an annual day-of-opening anniversary, and this year they were having a dinner special, the perfect reason to take anyone out. For a whole week ahead of time Ivan planned with Francis as his coach, and they finally worked out a little plan on how to get this all off the ground. Personally, Ivan thanked his lucky stars that Francis was there. The man was a master of love and Ivan would be hopeless without his help. Friends like those were certainly irreplaceable, and Ivan hoped he would never have cause to try.

Precisely two days before, exactly according to plan, he made sure that he had on a particularly happy face when he went down to the mail room, scarf tossed over one shoulder to keep out the cold and something akin to a smile on his lips. Of course, it was empty when he got there, but Ivan was willing to wait. It was torture to do so, but he pulled himself up to his full height and gave himself an internal smack. If he ever wanted to get a single shot with Alfred, now was a perfectly optimal time. So rather than hurrying out when he heard familiar tennis shoes clump down the stairs, he simply opened his mailbox and took out the few bills that were inside, sorting through them and maintaining his cheerful appearance. Sure enough, Alfred stopped at his own box just three rows over, getting out his own post then turning to Ivan.

"Hey, you look happy today, something good happen?" It was just a casual question, but Ivan had to swallow before replying. "Oh, well, my restaurant's anniversary of opening is in two days, and that puts all of us in a good mood. Another year of success, am I right?" This earned him a big grin of agreement from Alfred, and he couldn't help but lift his own lips a little to match it. "Sure is! Got anyone to go to that with?" That one struck Ivan a bit by surprise, but he pushed his answer out anyway. "No, I can't say that I have. Would you perhaps like to join me?" he half-mumbled, doing his best to keep eye contact. It was out there now, nothing to do but wait for- "Of course I would! You're like one of my best friends, Ivan. I'd love to go to dinner with you, just gimme a when and where." Alfred said, that happy look still genuine on his face. "Right, why don't I just pick you up? At…ah…about seven, if I remember rightly."

Well then. That had surprisingly gone quite well. For a minute, Ivan just sort of stood there, shell-shocked, until he noticed that Alfred's lips were moving again and tuned back in just in time to catch his agreement. "-then, I'll just have to throw together something nice to wear. You work at a fancy restaurant, right? I'll make sure to be decent. Though if you'll excuse me for right this second, I'm about to be late for work. See you at seven the day after tomorrow!" Alfred said, grinning and turning for the door. Ivan was almost sure that he saw something of a blush, but that was likely his imagination.


	6. Dinner, Finally

Exactly when he said he would be there, he was. Ivan knocked on the door and there was a brief scramble inside the apartment before Alfred jerked the door open, looking at him with wide eyes and then stepping out somewhat sheepishly. "I didn't have a clue what to wear, since I don't go out to these places a lot, but I tried. Hope it's not a train wreck." In Ivan's opinion, his outfit was simple and yet elegant enough for even the classiest restaurant.

Black slacks, a clean white shirt, a smooth jacket…he looked intelligent and refined. Of course, there was a smudge of toothpaste in the lower right corner of his lip, which Ivan pointed out and got a blush before it was wiped away. "I think you will fit in perfectly, if I may say so myself." After a few mental recitations of _this is not a date, _Ivan tilted his head towards the door and they went out into the street.

"Would you like to walk? It isn't actually all that far, I go on foot all the time." He turned to Alfred who simply shrugged and grinned. "Lead the way." They took off in the general direction of the building, which Ivan pointed out to Alfred over several rooftops, and wove among hundreds of other pedestrians on their ways to hundreds of private destinations. That was something Ivan loved about the city. Though you were never alone, you were still singular. Independent. Your destination was your own and hardly anyone would trouble you about it, yet if you moved just slightly to your right you would brush shoulders with someone. Another person was always there, and yet you two were always separated by the mere boundary of individual bodies.

"So, I guess you wear that scarf for this walk in particular, huh?" Ivan blinked at the question, having gotten a bit lost in his reverie, and turned to look at Alfred. "Oh…ah, my sister made it for me." Unconsciously, he tucked it a little tighter around his neck. "I thought that looked handmade, but very well done. It looks good on you." That bright smile flashed again, and yet again Ivan could not resist giving his own slight one in return. It was like their lips were somehow linked, even from feet away.

"She is back home in Russia, and gave it to me when I was a child to keep me warm whenever we walked somewhere, like school. All three of us went to the same school, my sisters and I, and she would walk us there every morning. I would complain on and on about the wind hurting my neck, so she made this for me herself, and gave it as a surprise. I guess you could say that it is my personal treasure." For a moment, he could have sworn the emotion in Alfred's eyes was tender wonderment as his gaze locked onto the garment, then swooped again over Ivan's face.

"Yeah….I guess my "treasures" are these glasses. I got them when I went to college and moved out of my parents' place. It was sort of my gift to me, when I discovered I needed some. Reading all those tiny figures in text books probably did me in, so I grabbed these and have hung on to them ever since." Crossing his eyes, Alfred slid the wiry frames off his face and examined them, breathing on either lens and wiping them off on his jacket.

"They suit you." Ivan said, and at a blink from Alfred he elaborated. "With them, you are The Architect. You said you got them while in school to become an architect, so it only makes sense that those glasses represent that aspect of you and your personality, that creativity that is limited to you. They are a singular thing that sets you apart from everyone else and makes you distinctive, I believe. As though they are your very own logo. Only Alfred wears those and they are forever associated with you, like a piece of your face. Without them, you're still recognizable, but you seem vastly different in an unnamable way." Alfred looked at the glasses, speculative, then back at Ivan. "I have to admit, you're the first person that's said that, and definitely the most poetic of anyone who's ever commented. Most people say that I just look younger without them, but I'd say you have a valid point. I've never thought of them that way…huh. I guess you're right. I am The Architect!" He nodded, and then offered Ivan a smile.

"Come on, though, I'm freezing half to death, and you promised me dinner! Food is one promise you just can't go back on!" They took off for the restaurant at a brisk step, facing the chill wind together and winding among the crowds. Soon enough the large building kneeled over the street and they ducked towards the entrance, slipping out of the grip of the crowd. Politely, Ivan held open the door and Al walked into the calm interior with a grin at his chivalry.

In contrast with the crowds outside, tonight the restaurant only had a few people within, all scattered about the room. The wait staff and the cooks, a few notable patrons; even the owner himself was there to celebrate. Champagne and cocktails floated between smoothed hands and occasional laughter broke out from one of the groups. It wasn't like a normal night, but Ivan felt more comfortable bringing Alfred here among his friends when no one was stressed or tired.

Turning back to Alfred, he found the younger man looking around with wonder on his face and clear in his eyes. Was this not the sort of place Alfred came to often? Ivan decided not to ask directly, but rather allowed Alfred to soak it all in, from the swinging music playing from invisible speakers to the laughing ladies bedecked in pearls and diamonds.

Slowly, he nudged Alfred in the direction of the table that he had reserved for them, overlooking the street and all the people that bustled past. It was his favorite table in the entire restaurant, and he always seemed to end up cooking for whoever sat there, peacefully watching the world march past. Was it something they had in common, he and this unknown person? Was it something they mutually enjoyed? Or merely a random moment of chance; all the other tables were full or they needed the window's light? There wasn't a rhyme or reason to it, but he always gravitated to this seat in particular.

Alfred's eyes finally came to rest on him again, as though remembering that he was there, and a smile lit his face. "Nice place ya got here. I like the design, very Bauhaus." he said, seeming rather pleased by the building itself. "Alfred, what on earth is Bauhaus?" It sounded…German and bizarre, but the question drew a laugh from his companion. "Well duh. Not everyone is an art-historical nerd like I am. Bauhaus describes a style started in the early 1900's characterized by having really plain-looking walls and surfaces that give it a simple yet elegant feel. Like this place, though I highly doubt it's that old." Ivan just blinked, taking all that in. He'd never thought about who built this building and why. Was that something Alfred considered about every building he entered?

That was somehow both fascinating and frightening, that he could take apart a whole building at a moment's glance. "You really are an architect…" he mused, getting lost in his thought for a second. "Yeah, got a degree and fancy paper hanging on my wall to prove it." Alfred added cheerily. Ivan just gave his own light, quiet laugh and looked down at the champagne menu. Of course he knew all their menus by heart already, but he just wanted to make sure that he chose something appropriate for the occasion and the dish. Something rather warm and hearty was what he wanted….such as the flatiron steaks with tapenade. It would contrast perfectly with the lightness and crisp flavor of a good glass of champagne.

It was only when he looked up that he noticed Alfred was staring at the menu as though it was written in French. Well, it was partially in said language, but for someone who likely only spoke English that could be a frightening experience. Casually he leaned over the table and pointed towards a favorite of his, fingernail neatly resting on top of the curled black script and tapping twice. "Might I suggest this? It's very good if you plan on eating chicken or fish." Alfred looked greatly relieved by his benevolent suggestion and nodded vigorously. "Yep, I wanted to get the pecorino-crusted chicken. You're a total genius at this stuff, Ivan."

As he said that, an idea that could possibly be contributed to invisible lightning striking his brain occurred. Ivan stood, took up the menus, and smiled warmly at his companion before edging out of the table. "Well, if you know what you would like and I know what I would like, I think we will not bother Jacques and I will simply prepare the meal for the two of us, if you'd be so kind as to wait." It was once again the most obvious solution that was the best. He was the chef, so why didn't he simply cook? It wasn't like he didn't know all these recipes or didn't have the materials. This was _his _restaurant, after all!

Alfred just nodded and shooed him off with one hand, causing Ivan to hurry off to the kitchen and find the correct bottle of champagne in the cooler, pop it open, and pour it into two glasses. That he brought back immediately, not wanting it to flatten, and Al took it from him with a smile. They didn't know much about each other, and this was the first time they'd even had dinner or gone out anywhere, and yet Ivan felt that smile was special. Just for him. It couldn't possibly have been, not a chance in the world, and yet the tiniest part of him hoped that it was. A grin with his name on it, from Alfred in particular.

It is said that when you find the person with whom you want to spend a very, very long time with, that time stops for a moment just to let you make sure that this is the right one, and not some sort of doppelganger or long-lost twin. In the extra-long moment Ivan had to look at Alfred, he saw something that could only be described as beautiful. Actually, not only. There were many, many things that were suitable for the description of Alfred. Yes, that face; eyes he'd seen watching him for brief moments in reality in longer in his dreams, lips he'd seen in speech and tasted against his own imaginary ones. A beautiful, cherubic, Botticelli face. A man that was a genius, a man that was an artist, a man that was a builder from the ground to the sky. That was Alfred. Within that moment, frozen in time, he made a decision that would likely alter the course of his life forever; a decision to find out everything there was to know about Alfred if it took him the rest of his life.

What they don't tell you about those little pauses in time that account for love is that once they're over, time moves twice as fast in order to catch up with itself. It seemed in the blink of an eye that Ivan moved from serving Alfred his champagne and getting that private smile to standing over a sizzling stove and pan-cooking steak with tapenade and pecorino-crusted chicken. Yet it was pleasing to do so, even though the world had just got done whizzing past him at a dizzying speed, and Ivan took pride in the browning of the chicken and the tenderness of the meat. Like two ready assistants, his hands moved in to sprinkle on cheese or add in spices to the two dishes, and the sounds of the party outside faded under the quiet hum of the stovetop and the crackle of beef fat, two sounds with which he was incredibly comfortable. His safe zone. If there was anywhere in the world to quietly consider his new determination in life, it was right here. Or perhaps in the shower; showers had a long history of being excellent places to consider things. Yes, it was a frivolous thing to decide to do, but in reality, what else was he really looking forward to? This city was somewhere he wanted to be, this job was exactly what he wanted to be doing. It wasn't like he would ever really be interested in a woman, so why not dedicate his time to finding out everything about someone who he had such a…connection with? It only made sense.

Both dishes were gently placed on plates and arranged just so, and carried in a way that ensured they were as perfect upon arrival as during preparation. Alfred grinned at him as soon as he saw him coming back, a bit of the nervousness that had clouded his face from being in a foreign place disappearing. He hastily picked up his fork and knife as Ivan sat the plate down, and only waited just long enough for Ivan to do the same before digging in. Ivan could have chuckled at his eagerness, but was interrupted by what surprisingly sounded like a groan from Alfred.

"Dude, what did you do to this? Put angel dust on it? It's delicious!" He looked quite genuine about the compliment as he carefully sliced off another piece and put it in his mouth. "Actually, it's pretty simple and involves cheese and mayonnaise." This got him a raised eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what this is? I could swear it was like food of the gods or something." That did make Ivan laugh, something Alfred apparently had a penchant for making him do. They conversed for a long while on the merits of French-invented dairy products and the irony that these things were now being reapplied to a chicken, and the champagne in the bottle got progressively lower and lower until Alfred's cheeks were bright red and even Ivan thought the lights were a little bit brighter.

"Okay, okay man…I've like…gotta go home now." Alfred mumbled, still laughing from something Ivan had said about chickens before, and his own story of encountering one such creature that liked to eat shoelaces back at home. Ivan checked his watch and nodded in agreement once he made out that the tiny hands read past nine o' clock. He hadn't meant to keep him out this long…but when the heck had they gotten here, anyway? Six thirty? Seven? Time was being a royal bitch tonight, and Ivan just mentally shrugged and went to hold open the door for Alfred.

Most of the return walk home was filled with silence and little comments that were always answered with laughter, especially at how silly Alfred had gotten in such a short period of alcohol. Al-cohol. Alfred-cohol? Ivan mentioned the similarity to Alfred, who smiled brighter than the streetlights and ended up tangled in his own shoes. By a miracle they made it inside the building, still giggling like a pair of teenagers, and Alfred reached his door first, turning back to Ivan.

"Hey…can I ask you something without you like punching my brains out if I'm wrong? 'Cause you totally could, you've got arms like a gorilla…." Alfred trailed off, then looked up, face suddenly rather serious. "Do you like men?"

It was really simple, but even Ivan's not-fully-functional mind took a long minute to think about it. Was Alfred asking him if he was gay to say no? Was he frightened by Ivan's advances? What was the answer to this unanswerable question? Yet his lips moved without him asking them to do so, seemingly bound to the truth. "Yes, yes I do." And as he had feared, Alfred turned away from him, unable to even meet his eye. A moment of regret flooded him; he wondered why he had to say that and why he had to be so damn honest and why-

"Can I say thanks for the date, then?" Alfred was looking up at him, and his face was mysteriously even redder than it had been before. Ivan, for the record, couldn't have been more dumbstruck if Alfred had whacked him over the head with a mallet. He just nodded, and that grin filled his definitely not watery vision. Something warm was placed on his cheek and it took the Russian a moment to process that it was Alfred's lips, suddenly against his skin as he'd wished so many times before, making him shiver. Then, ever so carefully, they dragged across his skin and hovered just over his own, their mouths close enough that he could feel Alfred's breath against his own. It wasn't a movie moment, it was a personal one. They didn't devour each other, they just brushed against in that infinity of closeness. Alfred's lips were chapped yet soft and Ivan just allowed himself the feeling of them against his own for as long as he could. He felt a hand behind his head press him closer, and allowed a tongue to slide inside his mouth, gloved lightly in champagne. A bare hint of his teeth pushed into Alfred's lower lip, and something buzzed between them as he'd imagined so often it would. Warmth, yes, and it made his breath hitch, just from their lips meeting.

When they drew back, it was with lightly hazy eyes, and Alfred just murmured a "goodnight" to him, and faded into his apartment while Ivan's own farewell faded into the apartment building's inexorably long hallway. He didn't even think about it, just sort of turned and walked back to his own home, fingers touching his own lips as though he expected them to be missing, wrapped up and carried away on a dream.


End file.
